


Parasites Take Up Less Space

by FireLordFrowny



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abusive Parent, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireLordFrowny/pseuds/FireLordFrowny
Summary: It's Zuko's 21st birthday. Ozai has never been a stellar father, but he's trying.





	Parasites Take Up Less Space

He awakens with a startled gasp to something heavy landing right on top of his head. Flailing and confused, Zuko tries to roll over, bed sheets tangling around him as he only barely registers the shouting coming at him, and the other objects pelting his body.

“Time’s up!” Ozai shouts. His voice is loud, commanding, and urgent, but there’s perhaps an unusual lightness to it; relief, maybe even joy. So far he’s thrown a travel bag, Zuko’s toothbrush and toothpaste, a pair of shoes, and a few items of clothing. “Time to go!”

Groaning, Zuko holds up his arms to ward off any further blows. “What the hell-... Ow! Ow, dad, _stop!_ That hurts!”

Ozai does stop, but only because he’s run out of things within arms reach to throw. So instead, he marches over and yanks the blankets off of Zuko; Zuko gasps at the cold, curling in on himself as his father decrees, “You’re twenty-one. You’re a grown-ass man. Time to get up out of my house.”

“What? You’re crazy!” Zuko complains as he grabs his pillow and sticks his head under it, holding it firmly in place. He only vaguely remembers a flippant conversation about ‘putting your sorry ass out on the streets as soon as you hit twenty-one,’ but he hadn’t thought for a second that his father might have been serious. “Go away! I’m trying to sleep!”

But Ozai grabs the edge of the mattress, and with one strong, valliant motion, he hefts it into the air, causing Zuko to tumble right onto the floor; the young man hits with a dense thud, and an ‘oof’.

“You can sleep in your own damn house.” Ozai snaps.

Zuko snaps back, rubbing bitterly at his bruised knees and elbows,“I don’t have a fucking house!”

“You know why?” Ozai marches over and gives his son a harsh nudge with his foot. “Because you don’t have a JOB.” Another, harsher nudge. “Because you’ve been living it up under my roof for three years too long.”

“Stop _kicking_ me!”

“Then get your ASS up off my floor, PACK your bags, and GET OUT!”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” Zuko feels like little more than a mutt. He drags himself up to stand, and, crouched over like a kicked puppy, he begins snatching up his clothes from off the floor, and stuffing them into travel bag Ozai had thrown at his head earlier. “I can’t believe you’d kick your own son out on his birthday when he doesn’t even have anywhere else to go.”

“Really?” There’s a levity in Ozai’s tone that makes his son feel sick with disgust. “Because I can _absolutely_ believe it.”

Zuko reiterates, desperate and heartbroken, “Dad, I don’t have anywhere to go! I’m gonna be on the streets!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure any of your friends would _love_ to have youon their couch.” Ozai shrugs. Then, when Zuko huffs, he continues, “I’ve given you luxury and comfort for twenty one years. For twenty one years, I’ve shared my money, my space, and sacrificed my privacy and peace of mind for you. The passed three years since you turned eighteen have been a _gift.”_

“A _gift?”_ Zuko snaps, forehead wrinkling into a frown and standing up straight to look his father in the eyes. And Ozai takes two menacing steps forward to stare him down - a dare. A challenge. A warning.

“Yes, a gift!” His hands are balled into angry fists. “A gift which you felt entitled to squander. You never got a job. You never paid rent. You never bought groceries. You never cleaned up after your damned self!” He picks up one of the old paper plates that had been sitting on Zuko’s nightstand, and shove it against Zuko’s chest, and Zuko stumbles backward. “All you’ve done is lay up in my home and mooch off of me like some kind of parasite. Except parasites take up less space.”

“That’s all I am to you?” Zuko spits. “You know what? Fine. I’m _out_ of here. I’ll sleep under a fucking bridge, if it means getting away from you.” He hoists the travel bag onto his shoulder and stalks passed his father, making sure to bump into his shoulder as he does so.

“Safe travels!” Ozai calls out, waving as Zuko finally exits the room and heads down the stairs.

 

***

Zuko doesn’t bother to change into his street clothes - he doesn’t even bother putting on shoes or socks, or grabbing any toiletries on his way out. He’s like a horse with blinders on, and all he cares about doing in this moment is getting out. Getting away from that awful excuse for a father. He stops only to snatch his car keys from off of the bannister by the stairs before throwing open the front door, slamming it shut, and making a beeline to his car.

Even now, out of sight of his father, he’s too proud to cry - he struggles to choke back tears as he tosses his bag into the back seat. He then yanks open the driver’s door, and sort of miserably lets him fall into the seat where he folds his arms onto the steering wheel, rests his forehead on them, and forces himself to take deep, seething breaths.

He needs to pull himself together. He needs to figure out where to go. He could call Sokka and Katara… they’d want to help, of course, but their dad has never been the biggest fan of him, and he’s not looking forward to Hakoda giving him the third degree before even _considering_ allowing Zuko to stay on their sofa for a few days. He could call Jet… Jet’s been wanting to be roomies since they turned eighteen, and he does have his own apartment, but… well, the place is a dump - drafty windows, cracked walls, vermin infested - and Zuko hardly even enjoys visiting, let alone the thought of _living_ there.

How much would a motel room cost, he wonders? If he got a job right now - as a waiter or a stock boy or something - would he be able to make enough in a day to pay for a night? And what about food? How’s he going to eat? Who’s going to feed him?

His fists clench around the steering wheel until the tendons stand out under his skin, and he presses the back of his head against the headrest as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a loud, sharp breath through his nose. He says to himself a hoarse, trembling, “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this. I hate him. I hate him so much.”

After another deep breath, his eyes open, and he prepares to reach to turn the key in the ignition, but something catches his eye - something sticking out of the visor. A piece of paper. Zuko frowns - he never stashes anything in the visor, on account of him always forgetting that it’s there, and then having it fall out and scare the shit out of him while he’s on the road. He huffs as he reaches up to yank the paper down; it reveals itself to be an envelope, addressed in his father’s handwriting to “Son.”

Zuko’s brow furrows. Is this some kind of a joke? He looks around. Perhaps Ozai is watching him. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe he’ll open this envelope and find an eviction notice. He almost doesn’t want to open it. But once he confirms that Ozai isn’t lurking anywhere nearby, Zuko sighs and tears his way into the envelope.

From inside he pulls out an unextraordinary card, blank on the outside. When he unfolds it, though, to see what’s inside, his heart lodges into his throat. He feels like he might faint.

 

 

> _Zuko,_  
>  _I am sorry that I don’t know how to be kind to your face. My inability to be a decent father has nothing to do with you, and all to do with me. The address of your new apartment is 3200 Paton Avenue, unit 7. The first six months are already paid for. After that, you are on your own. Enclosed here also is your apartment key, and a check for seven grand. This money is to help keep you fed, clothed, and entertained until you find a good job. Please use it responsibly._  
>  _Call me if you need anything._  
>  _Love,_  
>  _-Dad_

Zuko looks around one more time; Ozai is nowhere to be found. Not peeking from a window, not hiding in the bushes, not lurking nearby to witness and take credit for his rare good deed. Swallowing hard, Zuko reaches back into the envelope and finds the key - a simple brass one with the apartment community logo engraved on it - and the check. Paid to the order of Zuko Ozymandias. Seven Thousand Dollars And Zero Cents.

He could cry. He could scream. He could storm back into the house and punch his father square in the nose for putting him through so much strife, only to bestow such a generous gift upon him. He could hug him. He hates him. He loves him. He just doesn’t know.

But, he supposes, he’ll hold off on worrying about that until _after_ he’s all settled and cozy in his new home.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't post much anymore, but I want that to change! (I know I say that all. The. Time. But I'm gonna try to mean it this time). Anyway, this fic was requested by a friend, and I hope some of y'all enjoy it. 
> 
> (Fun Fact: If any if you are sky geeks, you may possibly have noticed that the street address "3200 Paton ave" is a homage to the asteroid 3200 Phaethon; the parent body of the Geminid meteor shower.)


End file.
